


Can I

by Onyxim



Category: DCU, DCU (Animated), Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bruce is insecure, Clark is a huge sap, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Making Out, Riding, Romance, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 08:59:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8243731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onyxim/pseuds/Onyxim
Summary: Bruce and Clark's first time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the song "Can I" by Alina Baraz. 
> 
> This was originally supposed to be humorous, but I couldn't do it. So this happened.

_"Can I make you feel okay_

_Would you let me take you to a higher place_

_No no no no, I bet you never knew_

_There’s a universe inside of you_

_Can I. . ."_

 

The huge wooden doors of the Manor opened with a silent creak - as silent as Bruce could have made them, what with their age - and moonlight filtered into the darkened house. Bruce lightly shushed him and didn't let go of Clark's hand, Clark, who was grinning like he'd just won the lottery, and closed the door just as silently. They were left in darkness, a lamp here and there their only light.

"Everyone is asleep," Bruce whispered, his breath ghosting Clark's ear. "We have to be quiet."

Clark would have gazed around in amazement if he weren't so. . .distracted already. He'd never been to the infamous Wayne Manor before. Hell, he'd never met Bruce's family before. Wait. . .

"'Everyone'?" Clark asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.

"My kids and Alfred," Bruce said in a rush, like it wasn't something he wanted to talk about, though it was understandable, given the reason they had left the party early anyway.

Clark nodded. That was definitely something they would talk about later. But, for now. . .

Clark leaned in and kissed him. Soft lips that took some coaxing to open, and when they did, Clark resisted the urge to smile and instead wrapped his arms around Bruce's waist. Bruce hummed and his own hands came up to fist his hair. Clark didn't miss how one of his legs lifted in the air a little.

Bruce broke away, the flush on his cheeks prominent even in the dark. He took Clark's hand once again and dragged him towards the grand staircase. Again, if Clark had time to marvel at how the whole house screamed "money," he would have.

They went up two flights of stairs before Bruce stopped them at a hallway with a seemingly endless row of rooms, one lone lamp illuminating it. Then lips were pressing insistently against his, as well as _another_ thing, and for a moment Clark found it funny that they were sneaking around the house, and now they were standing in the middle of the hallway, making out like teenagers.

Bruce's mouth tasted both sweet and bitter like the wine he'd had earlier. His hands in Clark's hair were clenching and unclenching with anticipation and every slide of their tongues, his breathing heavy. Clark could feel the heat of his skin through his suit, his finger twitched at the thought of sliding his hands further above his hips and under his shirt. That would come later. For now, he focused on the lips that connected and reconnected with his, the sweet sound of Bruce's short exhales.

He didn't realize that he had pushed Bruce against the nearest wall until he felt Bruce's hiss from the cold contrast of the wall and the warmth of Clark's arms. They broke away to look into each other's eyes, Bruce's darkened and glassy with lust and Clark's getting sheepish by the second.

"Sorry," he murmured, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks that was more anger at himself than embarrassment. At this rate, he'll let himself spin out of control. He can't let his strength take power over him. He knew how much Bruce hated when he wasn't the one dominating.

"It's okay," Bruce reassured almost awkwardly, and for good measure brought his hand up to Clark's face. "Really."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." The affirmation was breathy. "I like it."

Clark's heart spiked at that. He _liked_ it.

With newfound confidence swelling in his chest, he dipped back in to capture his lips again, thoroughly enjoying the way Bruce's legs came up to wrap around his waist as Clark pushed him harder into the wall. The kiss was no longer sweet and chaste, it was a battle for dominance, like Bruce was trying to reestablish it despite his earlier claim, their hands were suddenly rougher on each other, and Clark allowed himself to shift his hands higher and sneak under Bruce's shirt.

Bruce shivered at that, his mouth becoming more insistent and demanding until -

"Bedroom?" Clark breathed when he could take no more.

"This way."

He released Bruce from his arms and let him lead the way down the hallway. They had to tiptoe past a certain room, and when Clark asked why, Bruce replied simply, "He's a light sleeper."

They arrived at the master bedroom, which was probably bigger than Clark's kitchen, and when Bruce closed the door behind them, they stood quietly. For an entire ten agonizing seconds.

"Are you sure?" Clark asked again, his voice uncertain.

Bruce was tense when he answered. "Yes."

And then they were on the bed, legs tangled, not quite wanting to break the connection their lips had but having to because they needed air. Well, Bruce did.

All Clark wanted to do was show Bruce how hopelessly in love he was with him, how every time their eyes made contact his heart fluttered in his chest, how he was prepared to be with Bruce for the rest of his life.

He was getting ahead of himself. _Concentrate, Clark._  Concentrate on Bruce underneath you, fingers clawing at your suit like he wanted to tear it off, his normally gelled-back hair sticking up in eleven different directions, his cheeks sporting a rosy hue that wasn't just because of the alcohol he'd had earlier.

The visuals were too much. Clark pulled away, his hands tugging at Bruce's suit jacket. They sat up and disrobed, jackets flying to the far corners of the rooms, a belt clattering to the floor here, shoes falling beside the bed.

Clark's went to begin unbuttoning Bruce's shirt when a hand shot up and caught his wrist. He froze.

Overlaying Bruce's eyes was fear, _terror,_ like instead of unbuttoning his shirt Clark was going to cut him in half. Bruce's breath came unsteady with panic now, just barely decipherable because of his training. He still held Clark's wrist tightly.

"Can I?" Clark asked quietly.

And for a heart-stopping moment, he thought he would say no. Which he was completely fine with, but he wanted to clear Bruce of his insecurities, and whoever made him feel like this, he would hunt them down.

He took a risk and gently pried Bruce's hand away. With a small amount of force, he made Bruce relax, pinning his hands beside his head. Bruce's eyes never left his.

"Don't move," he ordered lightly. Apologized with a short but sweet kiss.

Bruce nodded, the movement stiff and unsure.

Clark got to work unfastening the buttons of his shirt, establishing his own dominance. _I'm going to make you feel good. Whether you like it or not, you are going to **enjoy** this._

The further down he got, the more was revealed. A mottled scar here. A crisscross from a knife wound. Some that looked older than others. A red stripe that ran from his rib to his hip.

He couldn't lie. It was truly a sight to see. His chest and stomach was a battleground, scars that had years of stories to tell.

It was then he knew, from the wince on Bruce's face as he pushed his shirt away, revealing more scars, that the hatred that he thought had been installed by another person was by himself. Bruce _hated_ himself. Hated his scars.

Unacceptable.

Clark's hands came up to hold Bruce's face, making him look directly at him. "Bruce," he breathed, unsure of what to say.

"They're ugly, aren't they?" Bruce said, his words accompanied by a dry, humorless chuckle.

"No," Clark said firmly.

Bruce didn't waver. "You're just saying that," he said.

"I'm not." Clark's hand traced a particularly odd scar, in the shape of a smiley-face. Joker, he presumed.

Bruce's face was borderline incredulous now. He looked. . .confused.

Clark bent down and kissed every scar. Every single one. Turned Bruce over onto his stomach to give attention to those on his back, which had much bigger scars, the target of endless knife slashes from criminals that caught Batman off guard.

Bruce was breathing unsteadily into a pillow. Clark was almost about to apologize for making Bruce feel uncomfortable until he caught the smile on his face.

"You're a dork, you know that?"

Clark chuckled, a sound that came out sounded more like a sigh of relief. "Yes." He wanted to add, "But I'm _your_ dork," but he didn't want to ruin the moment with more of his infamous dorkiness.

Bruce turned over onto his back, his eyes twinkling. Something about his eyes was unbelievably naked, and Clark knew then that his eyes have been somewhat guarded throughout the night, until now. He silently congratulated himself.

They shared another long stare, Clark almost feeling uncomfortable under Bruce's naturally analytic gaze. Royal blues searched aqua.

Clark kissed him again. This time, while pushing Bruce's shirt off of his shoulders and pulling his pants down. Clark sat up and removed his own clothing. They were a frenzy of fevered movement, desire for one another overtaking their lust. Bruce's mouth opened easily now, like they had been doing this for years.

In their own strange way, they had. Dancing around each other for four years took its toll eventually, and Clark forced himself to ask Bruce out two months ago.

Bruce's natural impatience won over and he flipped them, straddling Clark's hips. They were both still wearing their boxers. Clark convinced himself that that was okay, that tonight would be slow. But his own need caused him to lift his hips up into Bruce's.

Bruce's sharp exhalation in return made pleasure coil tightly in Clark's stomach.

The unsaid question that hung in the air was answered when Clark ran his hands up Bruce's thighs and his sides. Teasing. He shivered and said huskily, "Right side. S-second drawer."

Clark reached over and yanked the drawer open and pulled out a condom and a small bottle of lubricant.

Bruce seemed to shudder at the sight alone.

"How should we do this?" Clark asked, his voice barely above a whisper with anticipation.

Bruce smirked, grabbed Clark's right hand, and moved it to his lower back, right above the hem of his boxers. He slowly directed downward until Clark groaned lowly.

"Like this," Bruce said.

Clark yanked Bruce down and kissed him fully. Both of his hands itched to grab a handful of Bruce's ass, but for the moment he let it grind back into his erection, sighing into Bruce's mouth.

Not thinking, Clark ripped Bruce's boxers down the middle and threw both halves across the room. Bruce pulled away, wrinkling his nose.

Clark immediately realized what he had done and his eyes widened. He shrugged sheepishly. "Whoops. . .?"

"You're gona pay for those," Bruce murmured, once again insistently pushing the lube into Clark's palm.

"They were probably worth more than my paycheck," Clark returned, coating his fingers. He them let them find their way to Bruce's entrance, the gentle touch to the sensitive skin making the man's breath hitch.

The billionaire's eyes darkened as Clark inserted the first finger. "You're probably right," he said huskily, pushing back slightly. "They were my most expen - expensive pair." Clark didn't miss his stutter. He smirked and in went another finger.

Bruce tensed and his head went back. "Holy fuck."

Clark's smile was amused. "And we haven't even gotten to the good part yet," he said teasingly, his fingers searching carefully until they rubbed a sensitive spot and Bruce's back arched, his lips pressed together with the effort not to make noise.

Clark's fingers slipped out suddenly and that got a whine out of the man above him.

"Ready?" Clark breathed.

"Yeah." The tone was desperate.

With a smirk and a lift of his hips, he tore his own boxers away from him. Bruce rolled his eyes but he laughed breathily.

"Now we're even," Clark said. 

Clark let Bruce roll the condom on. And then, before he knew it, Bruce was slowly inserting Clark's length inside of himself, his eyes fluttering shut and his muscles tensing. He grunted softly when Clark was in at the hilt, trembling slightly.

"Relax," Clark murmured, running his hands up Bruce's sides, tracing scars with his thumbs. Bruce flinched a bit but didn't protest. Bruce's skin was hot to the touch and he vaguely remembered his trips to the sun.

"Good?" he then asked, linking their hands together.

Bruce nodded and opened his eyes, which were suddenly half-lidded. He pushed Clark's hands back in a flash of movement, pinning them beside his head.

"Good," he said, and began moving.

* * *

 

For Clark, it had been a long time since he'd made love with someone. Sweet touches and tender kisses, bodies moving in a slow synchronized manner. If he went five months in the past and told himself that he would be slowly kissing Bruce Wayne and feeling the hot, sweat-soaked furnace of his skin underneath his, he probably wouldn't believe it.

Even now, at this moment, he couldn't.

He couldn't believe that Bruce had let him flip them over and let his legs curl around his hips, couldn't believe he was feeling the blunt tips of Bruce's nails raking down his back and fingers fisting his hair. He couldn't believe that Bruce allowed him to mark his neck, let him run his hands up and down his body and whisper sweet nothings in his ear.

Most of all, Clark couldn't believe that the sounds he pulled out of Bruce were all for him, _because_ of him. Those moans, so soft and pretty, resonated throughout the room above the gentle creak of the bed.

He wanted to know what made Bruce gasp, what made him whimper and what made him _scream_. But he would save that for another night. For now, bathed in just the silvery rays of the full moon outside of the window, he only wanted to hear those soft sounds.

Bruce pulled his head down for a fevered kiss and Clark knew he was getting close. His thighs shook, his hands were gripping Clark's shoulder with such strength that it probably would have hurt a human. Over the sound of his own gasps, Clark heard Bruce breathe, "I'm gonna come," and they were the only words he'd said the whole time. 

"Do it," he whispered back, his hips stuttering. "Come for me."

Bruce's eyes screwed shut and he bit his lip hard, his body quaking as he climaxed soundlessly.

Clark was no match for Bruce's inner muscles clenching. He gasped, _"Bruce,"_ into his neck and flooded the condom.

He collapsed and rolled to the side so that he wouldn't crush Bruce, his breathing heavy.

"I love you," he practically blurted.

Bruce didn't say anything, just looked at him dazedly and moved to that Clark's arms were around him and they were almost, but not quite, cuddling.

Bruce didn't say it back. That was okay. He could wait.

For now, this was what he wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like this shoulda been longer but I will be adding a second chapter.


End file.
